Ratigan's Return
by Shelly Lane
Summary: During a Christmas celebration, Fidget's niece wonders what life might be like if it were possible for the spirit of Ratigan's former good nature to return to Mousedom after his death. Disney owns all. Credits to FairyTales and Pixie Dust. "Fabian" is actually Fidget. "Virtue" and "Tirade" are mice who use to work for Ratigan but are no longer criminals.
1. Uncle Fabian's Visit

**Uncle Fabian's Visit**

I shivered as I flew to school. If the wind became any stronger, I would have to walk. Ever since Uncle Fabian had an accident years ago that cost him the ability to fly, Father has insisted that we all be careful. (For the record, my uncle did not get his crippled wing from flying during a snowstorm; he was attacked by a cat.)

As this was the last day of school until after the Yuletide season, we were all required to give a report about holiday traditions from around the world. I had researched the Swedish tradition of St. Lucia's Day, and my best friend gave her report about Hanukah. One gerbil talked about Kwanzaa, and a newt mentioned Zwarte Piet, a companion to Father Christmas in some countries. I was fascinated by the different traditions, all special in their own unique way, but nothing could have prepared me for the final report.

"My report is about the holiday known as Hush," the student began. "It's the only day celebrated in London alone. No other place in England, or anywhere else in the world, acknowledges this day, and it's unique to Mousedom; humans have never heard of it. It began during the time Professor Padraic Ratigan was still alive. His men, the worst criminals of London, used to sneak around and give each other presents every Christmas, but Ratigan didn't approve of Christmas, so they had to be really quiet. They'd give each other cigars and beer, and when one of them thanked another too enthusiastically, everyone else said, 'Hush! The boss will hear you!' That's how the holiday got its name."

The teacher, who had been frowning ever since the mention of cigars and beer, blinked a few times. "May I ask why you chose to give your report about Hush instead of another tradition?"

"It sounded interesting."

"Did someone you know used to celebrate Hush?"

"You did, ma'am."

Several students gasped, and many began laughing. The teacher blushed and buried her face in her hands. Realizing she didn't have much of a chance of restoring order, she dismissed class early.

When I arrived home, I noticed we had a visitor.

"Hello, Uncle Fabian!" I hugged him.

He laughed. "How ya doin', toots? Ain'tcha got a record yet, or does Father Christmas gotta split the profits?"

Mother stood akimbo. "Fabian Lambert!"

"Sorry. I forgot yur proper. I gotta talk real fancy for ya." He cleared his throat. "I apologize, ma'am. I was only asking my lovely niece whether she had been her usual charming self, thus deserving Christmas presents, or if she had obtained a criminal record, as we know she would never do."

Father shook my uncle's hand. "Fabian, are you ever going to stop fidgeting?"

"Don't think so, 'Ratio! It's in my name!" He cackled. Noticing Mother glaring at him, he attempted to speak like a gentleman. "I shall do my best to control my fidgeting, Horatio, even though it may prove difficult, as my nickname implies."

"Never mind that now." Father gripped Uncle Fabian's shoulder. "I know it's a few days early, but Merry Christmas, little brother."

He grinned. "Thanks! Happy Hush ta you as well!"

"I will not have 'Hush' discussed in my home!" Mother exclaimed. "Shameful!"

Father brought us each a mug of hot chocolate. "You're the guest, Fabian. Would you care to make the first toast?"

"Be glad to!" My uncle raised his mug. "Here's ta my brother 'Ratio. He's got a nice wife. Got a real pretty daughter. Here's ta the wife an' children I ain't never gonna have 'cause no woman'll love someone like me 'cause I got a wooden foot an' I used ta be a crim'nal. Here's ta Bart. Hope he's restin' well an' he can forgive me for gettin' ta spend time with my niece when he ain't never gonna have the chance ta meet his nieces an' nephews 'cause 'Licia ate 'im when he was drunk off his tail!"

Mother's eyes widened in horror.

"Here's ta Basil an' that fat guy. I owe 'em my wings. Thanks ta them, I can fly again. Best Hush gift I ever got. Hush of 1897, ya know. Been a few years back, but I'm still grateful. Real nice of 'em. Didn't even charge me."

Mother's eyes narrowed at the mention of "Hush."

"Here's ta the world's greatest crim'nal rat. May he burn…"

"_**Fabian!**_" Mother interrupted.

Uncle Fabian looked confused. "May he burn his meal. He does that, he ain't gonna have no nice dinner like we're havin'. Fact, he probably might possibly choke on his food. That'd be real great! What'dya think I was gonna say?"

Father looked as if he were trying not to laugh until Mother sent a baleful lower his direction.

"Here's ta all the fun I used ta have drinkin' 'fore I gave it up 'cause I wanna be a good citizen. Sides, it hurts 'Licia seein' someone drink 'cause it reminds 'er that she's the one that killed Bart, after all the nice things he done for 'er when she was a kitten. Still, I miss seein' how many Rodent's Delights I could have 'fore I passed out. I used ta have some real fun times, ya know, but like I said, I gotta be a good citizen now, or Basil ain't gonna be real happy, an' he's gonna get me 'rested."

Mother seemed to have less holiday spirit by the second.

"Here's ta Rad'gun's other men, the ones 'n prison. I'm s'posed ta be 'n prison too, but the p'lice thought I was too dumb ta know right from wrong. It ain't the truth. I talk kinda unusual, but I ain't stupid. I knew what I was doin'. It was fun doin' all those crimes. Ain't my fault they think I ain't real smart. I ain't gonna tell 'em no different. I ain't in prison. Sides, I ain't a crim'nal no more. Why should I go ta jail?" He cackled. "Ain't it funny that outta all them men, I was th' only one who outsmarted the p'lice?"

"Has he been drinking coffee again?" Mother whispered to Father.

"Dearest, it's the Yuletide season," he whispered back. "I know my brother is a bit excitable, but he's our guest, and this is not the time of year to turn away family."

"Horatio, I can't take much more of these dreadful toasts! We're raising our daughter to be a proper lady, and Fabian parades in here and speaks of dreadful matters! As if that isn't bad enough, he pulls this stunt only days before Christmas!"

Oblivious to their conversation, Uncle Fabian continued, "Here's ta 'Licia. Thank ya, cat, for not bein' a mouser no more. I don't miss the sound of bones snappin' or seein' blood on the porch an' fur everywhere, an' I still wish ya hadn't ate my foot, but I don't hold grudges. I hope 'Licia's still happy with her humans an' they ain't thrown 'er out yet. Here's ta Rad'gun bein' dead, thanks ta 'Licia. Here's ta not havin' doggie chase me. Hard ta have fun doin' crime when Basil's dog's after ya."

"Here's to not having our hot chocolate become cold." Father raised his mug.

"Cheers." Uncle Fabian concluded.

Even now, his words continue to run through my mind: "Here's to Ratigan being dead, thanks to Felicia."

Had the late felon really been so dreadful that not a soul would wish him eternal rest during Yuletide, the most peaceful and joyful of all times? I know from talking with my friends that we all have different beliefs about what happens after one's last breath. Some say there is an afterlife. Others believe we are born again in this world. There are also those who claim death is the end of one's existence. Although I have my own ideas about the matter, I understand that not everyone agrees. However, just hypothetically, I wonder what would happen if the spirit of Ratigan's goodness were allowed to return. Surely he was kind at one time in order to have been Basil's childhood friend. What if everything evil about Ratigan perished with his physical body, but everything good about him remained in Mousedom? Call him a ghost. Call him someone who got a second chance at life. What I call him is a good story.

Taking my journal in hand, I write what I imagine would happen if there was a way for Ratigan's goodness to continue living in Mousedom after the rest of him died.


	2. Dublin, 1907

**Dublin, 1907**

He could feel the rain pelting him as he fell, yet he arrived at the bottom of the clock tower unharmed as the storm passed.

"Goodbye so soon, and isn't this a crime?"

The voice startled him, and he suddenly felt his bones crushed. Padraic Ratigan saw a wroth beast, who had been driven insane by his own hatred, pulled away from him. Then he saw nothing but darkness.

"Padraic?" The sound of knocking on the door woke him. "It's nearly time to open!"

Ratigan sat up and stretched. "I'll be out shortly, Lorcan. I was having that dream again."

He couldn't explain how he came to be working at a bakery in Dublin or why he lived with a family of large hamsters. He had no memory of his life. It seemed he had spent the past ten years as a baker, but that was all he knew.

Somehow he felt London held the answers. Unable to resist any longer, he told the hamsters that he felt a part of him was missing.

"I must journey to London," he concluded. "Maybe I'm wrong, but until I see the city with my own eyes, I'll never know."

Lorcan smiled. "If it would make you feel better to see London, Paddy, then you must go there. We'll still be here when you return to Dublin."

"Thank you for understanding."

"Have a safe trip." Collins shook his hand.

Ratigan could hardly explain the feeling that overpowered him as he first set foot on English soil, a feeling that became stronger as he got closer to his destination. There was something familiar about England, especially London. This city was surely connected with memories he had long since forgotten, but how?

Leaving his belongings in a hotel room, he went for a stroll. For some reason he couldn't understand, many rodents stared at him in disbelief.

One of the royal guards, who had just gotten off duty, gasped. "Heaven preserve us!"

At the toll of Big Ben, Ratigan shuddered. There was death in the sound of the bell, although he couldn't imagine why he felt that way.

To his chagrin, Ratigan realized he had become lost. Stopping a constable who was patrolling the street, he asked for directions back to his hotel.

The constable frowned. "Who are you, sir?"

"Padraic Ratigan."

"An actor?"

Ratigan was confused. "No, sir. That's my real name."

"Perhaps you should see Basil."

There was something familiar about that name, but Ratigan couldn't place it. "Who is this Basil, and where can I find him?"

Looking even more puzzled, the constable gave him directions to Baker Street. Thanking him, Ratigan continued on his way. As he approached the flat, he heard voices, even though the street was nearly deserted.

"It's been ten years since you've been a mouser. You changed your ways and came to live with my humans, remember? Isn't it time you forgave yourself for what you've done?"

"It's not that easy."

Ratigan looked around to see who was speaking, but all he saw was a dog, who was sitting beside a cat on a porch. The cat's eyes narrowed when she saw him, and she flattened her ears against her head.

"I mean no harm," Ratigan began. "I only want to see Basil. I'm lost. The constable told me Basil could give me directions back to my hotel."

The cat continued to glare.

"I know you can talk. I heard you. I know cats and dogs aren't supposed to talk in front of humans or rodents, but it doesn't bother me. You may speak if you wish."

"Who are you?!" the cat demanded.

"My name is Padraic Ratigan."

"Are you an actor hired to torment me, or are you just out of your mind?"

"I'm sorry I caused so much confusion," Ratigan apologized. "Maybe I should leave."

"You're not leaving until I know who you are and what you're up to!" the cat informed him. "Toby, see if you can find a psychologist or anyone else who would know what's happening."

The dog nodded and left.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Ratigan commented. "Why can't we be friends?"

The cat tilted her head in confusion. "Why would you want to be friends, Professor?"

He frowned. "Why do you call me 'Professor'?"

She sighed. "The Napoleon of Crime? The world's greatest criminal mind? The Rajah of Robberies? The Marquis of Murder? The Sultan of Stealing? The Shah of Shame? Which title would you prefer?"

"I am not a criminal," he responded.

"My humans are all doing errands at the moment. Come inside with me." The cat led him to her favorite cushion in front of the fireplace and handed him an old newspaper article about Queen Moustoria's Diamond Jubilee.

Ratigan's eyes widened. "Who would do such a terrible thing?!"

"You…you are…" She stared at him. "You're not Professor Ratigan, the world's greatest criminal rat, are you? You must be the spirit of Ratigan's goodness, the part of him that Bartholomew always thought existed, but I never got to meet."

"Bartholomew." Ratigan thought a moment. "The name sounds familiar. Were we friends?"

"Never mind that now. I wish to discuss a different mouse." The cat showed him an old photograph of a mouse child and a rat child playing together. "Do you remember this?"

He smiled. "I do!" Memories began to flood his mind. "This is Basil of Baker Street when he was a child! I remember him now! We were like brothers! He wanted to be a detective someday!"

"He's Mousedom's finest," the cat replied.

"And what is your name, miss?"

"Felicia Hudson."

"'Felicia' is a very pretty name."

The cat hesitated, unsure how to respond. "You're actually the one that named me."

"I was? But I've never met you!"

She shrugged. "It's a long story."

"I have plenty of time." Ratigan sat down. "You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not, but I am rather curious."

"I suppose you have the right to know. There was once a rat who started out kind, but years of bias against his species poisoned him with hatred and turned him into a criminal. He took a stray kitten into his care, but he believed she should obey him out of fear rather than respect, so he hurt her at every opportunity until she grew up to be just as wicked as he was." She listed some of the torments she had suffered at his hands when she was a kitten.

Ratigan's ears drooped. "That was…me?" He lightly stroked her scarred paws. "I did that…to you?" A tear slipped down his face. "I'm so sorry for everything he did to you…everything I did. No one shall every lay a paw on you again. They shall have to go through me first."

Felicia smiled. "Then I know I am safe. Basil always said you were a powerful enemy, but you were an even more powerful friend." She pulled him into a hug. "I don't care what happened all those years ago. All that matters to me is that I finally got to see who you are now, the real you. I dreamed of you once, and now I finally get to meet you!"

"I don't know how you have it in your heart to forgive me."

"You forget I also understand what hatred can do to someone. I don't blame you for what happened." After a pause, she added, "I'm being selfish. Basil will want to see you again. He's missed you terribly."

Ratigan nodded. "I have missed him as well."

"You will come back to visit, won't you?"

He kissed her cheek. "Of course, I will, darling."

Felicia rubbed her head against him. "I'm elated to meet you at last…Father."


	3. Reunion With Basil

**Reunion With Basil**

Detective Basil stared in disbelief at the rat who stood before him. Was this a joke at his expense, or was he hallucinating?

"Hello, Basil," Ratigan greeted. "It's been a while. I wanted to come see you. I've heard you've been asking about me. I'm sorry I never wrote."

"My dear sir, I'm afraid I have not yet made your acquaintance; thus I would have no reason to make inquiries about you," the investigator responded.

"You honestly don't remember me?" He handed Basil the old photograph. "We were children together. We were…we were friends."

"The rat in this photograph perished a decade ago. I examined the surrounding area and confirmed his demise. He fell from the hands of the clock tower, and although he managed to arrive on the ground unscathed, he was murdered by his own executioner!"

Ratigan was bewildered. "What would I be doing on the hands of a clock tower?"

Basil removed his jacket and briefly pulled up the back of his shirt, turning to reveal the scars on his back and shoulders. "My nemesis took a child hostage. I was wounded during our confrontation after I rescued the girl from his clutches. These horrendous events occurred the night that fiend attempted to usurp the throne!"

Feeling as if his own heart were shredded by the felon rat's claws, Ratigan sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands. "How could I have done such a thing to my only friend?"

The sleuth frowned. "You honestly believe you're Ratigan, don't you? Perhaps you should visit with a psychiatrist."

"I was called 'the spirit of Ratigan's goodness.'"

Basil thought a moment. "Perhaps in some supernatural manner, you are here because you never truly had a chance to live. Ratigan's benevolence was murdered by hatred, leaving a criminal in lieu of the rat I knew during my youth." On impulse, he embraced the kneeling rat. "However you came to be here, I am rather pleased to see you. I have missed my friend."

"You believe me?"

"I hardly dared at first, but I would not be a professional investigator for long if I could not recognize my own former companion."

After a while, Ratigan queried, "Am I really dead?"

"I believe Ratigan's malevolent nature perished with his physical body, but you seem alive, at least in a manner of speaking."

He smiled and changed the subject. "I hear you've become Mousedom's finest detective. I can't say I'm surprised."

"Thank you, my dear Ratigan, but I fear I shall not remain so for much longer." Basil sat comfortably in his favorite chair. "Unlike you, I've aged these past ten years. I may consider retirement soon." He motioned for Ratigan to have a seat.

"You'd hardly be considered elderly. I'm sure you have a few years left before you're too old for adventure."

"Are you aware I am past forty years of age?"

Ratigan's eyes widened. "Are you really? I never would have guessed!"

"I must have an apprentice. Your observations are correct; I am currently spry enough to continue solving cases, but I must train a younger mouse to take my place _before_ I am too infirm to do so."

"Have you anyone in mind?"

Basil lit his pipe. "I thought perhaps I would ask Miss Flaversham. She may be able to recommend someone."

Hearing Big Ben toll in the distance, Ratigan glanced outside. "I should return to my hotel room before the sky gets too much darker. I don't remember my way around London very well, and I wouldn't want to get lost again. I actually came here because I didn't remember how to get back, and I hoped you would be able give me directions."

"I will gladly assist you on the condition that you agree to return presently. It should please me immensely if you were to visit again."

Ratigan shook his hand. "You have my word. The pleasure would be mine!"


	4. The Mysterious Mouse

**The Mysterious Mouse**

As he was returning to his hotel that evening, Ratigan passed by the cemetery. Seeing a bell-shaped monument, he began reading the names engraved on the marble stone.

"May they all rest in peace," he whispered.

When he read the final name on the monument, he gasped, blinking a few times to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

"Bartholomew Ingham?" he asked rhetorically. "I have vague memories of a mouse by that name. Could this be the same one?"

"Indeed."

Ratigan looked around, startled by the unexpected voice.

"Awful, isn't it?" A mouse approached him and lightly touched the monument. "These are the names of all those who perished when Professor Ratigan rang the bell, but there are two names I don't see on there, two who were just as much victims as any of the others on there."

"Who are they?"

"The most obvious one is the felon himself. You can't mistreat someone and then teach them to be cruel. That's just asking to get yourself killed. If you give anyone a reason to hate you and then you purposely make sure they have no heart, revenge is inevitable, and that's exactly what happened. When Basil and his nemesis fought on the hands of the clock tower, the investigator rang the bell only moments before Big Ben itself began to toll. The rat landed unscathed at the bottom of the tower, although I'm not sure how, but he was brought to justice by his own hostage."

Ratigan frowned. "His own cat ate him?"

The mouse nodded. "'Murdered by his own executioner,' as Basil calls it."

Unsure of what to say, he asked about the second victim.

"Felicia." The mouse sighed. "She was innocent…harmless, really. All she ever wanted was someone to care for her. She wasn't born a mouser, but the world's greatest criminal rat always had his way in the end. He destroyed her. He didn't rest until he was sure her heart was as dark and bitter as an arctic night, the same as his own. I don't blame her for what she did when the bell rang. It was what she was raised to do. She acted cruel because that's how she was raised to feel. Besides, even if the cat had never been born, all these names would still be on this monument. If that master of hers wanted someone dead, that rodent was going to die, and considering some of the ways he used to murder others, being eaten was actually a merciful way to go. If you ask me, it is the criminal mastermind, not his cat, who is responsible for these deaths."

"I agree," Ratigan answered solemnly. "I take it Felicia does not see it that way?"

"He blinded her. She can't see that he made her into something she wasn't. She can't see that he's the true culprit, and she was just a tool to dispose of offenders, not the real killer. For example, if I were to shoot someone, whose fault would it be that a death occurred, mine or the gun's? It would be mine since I planned the victim's demise and pulled the trigger; the gun was just the tool I used at the time, and it wouldn't have done a thing if I hadn't loaded it, aimed, and fired."

"Have you told the cat this?"

The mouse shook his head. "It would hurt her too much to see me. Of all the names on this monument, mine causes her the worst guilt."

Ratigan stared in disbelief. "You were one of the mice she killed?"

"I was one of the mice she ate, but I was actually dead years before my former boss rang the bell. The first glass of liquor he gave me was my killer. Alcohol seized control of my life, and I was no longer the mouse I used to be. All that mattered to me was having another drink." He cringed. "There are some rodents who believe just a little alcohol every now and then is harmless, and I suppose that's a matter of personal decision, but I like myself better dead than drunk."

"I don't mean to be rude and ask about matters that are none of my concern, but are you like a wandering spirit, doomed to haunt Mousedom forever due to some unfulfilled purpose?"

He laughed. "My purpose in life was fulfilled well enough. I should be at rest now."

"At rest?"

"Resting peacefully, whatever you choose to believe that would imply."

"Then…" Ratigan was unsure how to phrase his next question.

"Why aren't I?"

He nodded.

"It just wouldn't seem right," the mouse explained. "I just can't bring myself to rest while Felicia's still tormented by guilt she doesn't deserve to have."

"She must have been very special to you."

"She was like my sister. No matter how bad my life was, I still had a reason to continue living. I had to be strong for her sake." He smiled. "I was well paid for my trouble. Money can't buy the feeling you have when you know you are loved by a child."

"For some reason, you seem familiar. Do I know you?"

The mouse nodded. "You are the spirit of Ratigan's goodness. I met you one Christmas. It was in 1896, I believe. You were a nice change from Ratigan's cruelty." He extended his hand. "I'm Bartholomew Ingham."


	5. Ratigan's Resolve

**Ratigan's Resolve**

When Ratigan woke in his hotel room the next morning, he was sure he had been dreaming. Was he really a sort of ghost, sent back to Mousedom to have a second chance at life because the other half of his personality had "murdered" him? Had he really spoken with Detective Basil of Baker Street, and had they truly been childhood friends?

Trying to sort it all out, he went for a stroll through the park. When he had nearly finished his walk, he felt someone accidentally bump into him.

"Sorry 'bout that! Didn't see ya there!"

"Quite alright," he replied, smiling at the bat who had inadvertently collided with his knee.

The bat stared. "Yur the best actor I seen yet! Ya don't mind me askin', what's yur name? Ya can be sure I'll be seein' any theater piece yur in! Ya gotta be one of the best!"

"Padraic Ratigan."

The bat laughed. "I know who yur s'pozed ta be. Yur spittin' image of the boss."

Ratigan felt slightly uncomfortable. "That actually is my name."

"Sure. I'll play 'long. Ya know who I am?"

"I'm afraid I've never met you."

He cackled. "Fabian Lambert, 'cept I don't go by my real name much. Got used ta bein' called 'Fidget,' so I answer ta either. Others ya may 'member 're in prison. Bill 'n' Henry 'n' Lewis 'n' all them. Robert's out. Already served his time. Allen never had ta go ta jail. Basil thought he wasn't real crim'nal. Just fell in with wrong crowd. Said Allen's free mouse, he gets counselin'. Allen ain't stupid. Apologized ta Basil 'n' the police. Got counseling. Never felt handcuffs 'round his wrists."

Ratigan nodded.

"Ya might wanna talk ta Basil. He's got good idea. Thinks crim'nal who works for good of community pays debt ta 'ci'ty better than one who just sits in prison. Thinks maybe someone should start program help crim'nals change ways. Some crim'nals have program 'stead of jail. Others get ta join after spendin' certain 'mount of time behind bars. Maybe ya can help. Ya can teach 'em be good citizens."

"Perhaps," Ratigan replied.

"Come ta think of it, I shoulda known ya were in town. 'Licia saw me this mornin'. She don't talk with her lips none, but she knows how ta talk through gestures, ya know? She said ya were in town. Yur real good for kitty, ya know that? Never seen her happier. Maybe ya teach her it ain't her fault I'm missin' my foot. Not blame herself."

Ratigan pondered the idea. Perhaps he had returned to Mousedom, not only to give himself a second chance at life, but to help others with theirs as well. Was it possible that he could help some former henchmen get fewer years in prison or make sure those who had already served their sentence had respectable jobs? Could he really help Felicia overcome the guilt that was never truly hers to have?

He silently vowed that he would try. He would have a lot of work ahead of him, but he would not merely make amends for any harm caused by the spirit of Ratigan's cruelty; he would also do anything within his power to assist those who had never been the former criminal's victims. He wasn't sure what he would do, whether he would become a great scientist or truly earn the title of "Professor," but he knew that by the time he was finished, mouse society would have change forever, but this time, it would be for the better.


	6. My First Hush Celebration

**My First Hush Celebration**

I frowned as I finished writing my story. Why had I set it so far in the future? It wasn't even 1900 yet, and I had written a story with the setting of 1907. Besides, who would even care if every good thing about Ratigan managed to return to Mousedom in the form of a confused, wandering spirit, and other than the former henchmen, who even cared that Bartholomew Ingham had ever existed? Furthermore, it was ludicrous to believe that a cat could speak! I contemplated throwing the story into the fireplace, but before I could do so, Uncle Fabian asked if I wanted to take a walk.

"It's late at night," I argued.

"C'mon, niece. It's Christmas! Yur 'lowed ta stay up a little late on Christmas, ain't ya?"

"Alright," I agreed. "Perhaps a short walk would be harmless enough."

To my surprise, Uncle Fabian took me to the cemetery. A mouse was waiting by the bell-shaped monument.

"Good evening, Fidget," he greeted.

My uncle grinned. "Nice ta see ya, Allen. This is my niece. Ain't she pretty?"  
Allen smiled. "She is indeed." He shook my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Your uncle's told me a lot about you."

"I've heard a lot about you too, sir," I replied.

He laughed. "With an uncle like yours, I'm sure you've heard about half the town!"

A mouse in a red jacket approached with his wife, who had a child in her arms.

"Ya look kinda fat, Tirade! Ya gonna have 'nother baby?" Uncle Fabian asked.

The woman frowned slightly.

"Would it kill you to use a slight amount of tact?" the man whispered.

"Sure thing, Virtue!" my uncle replied.

I tried to recall the story that Uncle Fabian had told me about these two mice. They were apparently given the nicknames "Virtue" and "Tirade" when they worked for Ratigan, but I didn't remember what their real names were. I knew that Basil had helped them escape since they weren't truly criminals, and they had accepted some sort of deal to avoid any time behind bars.

I was surprised to see Basil's pets, Toby and Felicia, arrive at the gathering. Felicia hung a wreath on the monument and placed a poinsettia before it, lightly running her paw over every name engraved on the stone, pausing on the last one.

Tirade also touched the final name on the monument. "May my brother forgive me for living to see the twentieth century when he cannot." She nearly sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Bartholomew!"

Felicia looked as if she had been stabbed. I'll never forget the pain or guilt in her eyes.

"No grief." Tirade managed to smile. "He would not want anyone mourning for him on Christmas."

The cat nodded and cuddled the young mouse that Tirade placed on her paw.

The child giggled. "An Fis!"

She kissed him.

"What does 'An Fis' mean?" I whispered to Uncle Fabian.

"He's too young ta say 'Aunt Felicia,' so he calls her 'Aunt Fish,' or at least close as he can."

"Uncle Fabian, what are we doing here?"

"We're havin' Hush!" he remarked. "Been a few years since we done it, 'n' we thought it'd be fun."

"Mother is going to kill me!" I whispered.

"Not if she don't find out. Even a good girl has ta break rules sometimes, right? Ain't healthy ta be proper 'n' polite all the time. Am I wrong?"

He tossed a package to Allen, who began opening it as quietly as possible, trying to pull the tape off without ripping the wrapping paper.

"A suit?" Allen grinned. "Thanks, Fidget! Maybe this will help me get a better job so I can live somewhere other than a condemned building!"

Virtue placed a wrapped box in my hand.

"Thank you, sir." I opened the package and gasped at the sight of so much chocolate. "Mother is going to be furious!"

"Hush," Virtue answered. "This is the one time of year you can break rules without anyone ever having to know."

Uncle Fabian passed me a mug of hot chocolate. "Ain't like we're cel'bratin' Hush by ourselves, ya know?" He tapped the monument. "They're all here. Someone ya care 'bout never really leaves ya, 'cept in phys'cal form."

Christmas or Hush, I wish that everyone may keep the spirit of this most special of days in their hearts all year long.


End file.
